Time Marches On
by ilovetvalot
Summary: After weeks of bad cases, can Dave confide to his lover what's REALLY bothering him? Rossi/Prentiss
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note**: We're excited to announce our Round 3 of our Fanfic Challenge on Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. The __**Dealer's Choice August Challenge**__ is a great way to stretch your writing muscles! Please see the forum for further details. We'd love to have you! And please visit the forum to read our latest interview with the simply amazing **Mingsmommy and cmfanbex**__! And, please remember our fellow author,__** Angel N Darkness**__, who was in a serious car accident on Sunday. Visit the discussion thread to leave your best wishes. Updates on her condition will be posted there as we receive them. We've also added four new discussion threads, __**"Let's Play, "Name**__**Your Beta""**__ for those of you that want to publicly recognize and recommend your beta and __**"Chit Chat with the Authors"**__ for those that have questions related to writing and Criminal Minds fanfiction, **"The Art of the Well Written Sex Scene"** for those of us that struggle with those intimate moments in our stories and **"Let's Take a Good Thing and Make it Better"** to gather suggestions on how to make this forum even bigger and brighter. Please drop by and check it out._

**Time Marches On**

**Chapter One**

It had been a long month. A very long, extremely difficult, nerve-racking month. A month that Emily Prentiss truly, sincerely, and fervently hoped to never repeat again.

Cases had kicked the BAU team's collective asses and the harsh realities of their jobs had taken a toll on each member. Tempers were frayed and limits had been reached across the board without exception. But none more so than the man she'd chosen to share a life with...a life, which up until a few hours ago, she held in the highest regard. But, the simple truth right now was that Emily Prentiss was quickly reaching the end of her proverbial rope.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Emily couldn't control the grim smile that escaped when she heard her name called irritably from the direction of the great room.

"Prentiss!" Rossi shouted roughly, his deep tone bouncing against the hewn rafters. "You've lost the damned remote again."

Rolling her eyes at the aggrieved tone in her longtime lover's voice, she shook her head, silently denying his clearly-stated accusation.

David Rossi was in a mood. A foul mood. Of course, while others might cower and quake in the face of his mercurial hormonal shift, she simply shrugged as she calmly slipped the pot roast she'd kindly prepared into the oven. He could wait. Her dinner couldn't.

Closing the oven with a decisive move, Emily straightened slowly, cinching the waist of her worn comfortable robe tightly as she imagined slipping a noose around her normally affectionate mate's neck. Ignoring the heavy growls emanating from the den, she calmly pulled a bottle of wine from the full rack on the granite counter.

Glancing at the dark bottle holding the Brunello that Dave had ordered a month ago from Tuscany, she nodded approvingly. So what if he'd been saving it for their anniversary? At the moment, she wasn't sure she was going to allow the surly bear he'd become to live until then. Smoothly reaching for the corkscrew, she prepared her goblet of wine with a minimum of fuss even as the discontented rumbles continued filtering through the open doorway to the kitchen.

Reminding herself that this had been anything but an average month, back to back cases severely curtailing their time together, Emily made an effort to simply block out the noise as she took a healthy sip of the deep red wine.

"Damn it, Emmy, where is it?" she heard her lover bellow impatiently, his growls distracting her from the wonderful wine. "The damn game is gonna be heading into halftime before you ever answer me!"

You can't kill him, she reminded herself sternly. Think of the paperwork. The funeral arrangements. The blood you'll be cleaning out of the Berber carpet. No, she thought, tightening her fingers around the crystal glass, killing him would create more problems than it would solve. Better to simply try and rise above. To take the high road. To be the better person.

"Goddamn it! Em?" Dave yelled for the fourth time.

Oh hell, so much with her earlier resolutions, Emily thought with a mental grimace. She could accidently-on-purpose drop her hair dryer in his bath. No muss, no fuss.

Grabbing her wine glass from the counter, she forced herself to slowly walk toward the den of his inequity. Why did she feel like a Christian being thrown to the lions in the ancient Coliseum?

"You bellowed?" she made herself ask pleasantly as she walked into what had been, previous to this moment, her favorite room in the house. Decorated in earthy tones with overstuffed comfortable furniture, it was a room where she could unwind, kick back with a good book and a better wine, and forget the rest of the world.

On any day other than today, obviously.

His eyes flashed dangerously as he glared over his shoulder at her. "Did you go deaf in the time it took us to get home from the airfield, Prentiss?" Dave asked sarcastically, tossing another throw pillow from the couch onto the hardwood plank floor beneath their feet with an angry flick of his wrist.

Ignoring his snide comment with a determined ear, Emily smiled her sweetest smile. "Redecorating, Dave?"

"Prentiss, this isn't a time for jokes," Dave rumbled, flipping a couch cushion and plunging his hand into the depths of the couch. "All I wanted was to come home, watch the fucking game and relax. Not play a rousing game of search and destroy in my own damned den. What the hell did you do with the remote?"

"Dave, do you somehow think that I came in and hid the remote from you just for the special pleasure of watching you lose what's left of your feeble mind?" she asked conversationally, slowly moving toward the coffee table beside his recliner. Frowning at the pile of magazines, she slowly straightened the back issues of Field and Stream and resisted the urge to chuck the newly resurrected remote control at the back of his oversized head. "Are you, per chance, looking for this?" she asked, wagging the black universal remote in the air as he turned around.

"Where did you hide it this time?" Dave snapped, his brows drawing together in consternation as he stared at the once-missing instrument.

"Right under YOUR Field and Stream, you sanctimonious ass," Emily snapped back, whipping the remote across the room toward him. At least, that's what she had meant to do. Who knew she could get so much distance with a simple toss, she thought idly, as the mirror behind Dave's head shattered.

"Damn it, Emily," Dave groaned, looking over his shoulder as shards of glass rained down with sharp pings against the floor. Letting out a deep sigh, he griped, "I just replaced that mirror last month because of one of your temper tantrums."

"Oh! You mean the one where you ended up throwing your glass at the wall because I refused to discuss my mother's upcoming visit for the fifteenth time? So sorry," she drawled sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at his sanctimonious face.

"As I remember it, that argument was about you and your avoidance issues," Dave grumbled, moving behind the couch to survey the newest damage to their home. At this rate, he was going to have to take out a rider on his insurance policy before structural damage reached epic proportions.

"MY avoidance issues?" Emily echoed incredulously, her eyes narrowing. "You're in here throwing stones at glass houses, pitching fits that would do a toddler proud, and we're going to focus on MY issues? I believe you're the party currently avoiding something in this house, Dave. Not me."

"I..." Dave began to bluster, his cheeks going ruddy as he shifted his weight, his shoulders immediately straightening as he prepared to do battle.

Raising a hand to forestall his oncoming diatribe, Emily shook her head. "Don't even bother trying to deny it. This is ME, Rossi, remember? The woman that knows you in and out. Losing the damn remote doesn't produce this kind of hostility. EVER."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do, Prentiss," Dave muttered, bending to throw the throw pillows he'd dropped back on the couch.

Gaping slightly as her surprised eyes widened, Emily shook her head, feeling the slowly building anger inching its way up her stiffened spine. Narrowing her dark eyes with deadly accuracy, she shook her head. "You know what, Dave? When you can be reasonable and your multiple personalities can decide which is delegated as their spokesperson for this evening, I'll be in our bedroom."

"You're leaving?" Dave asked sharply, jerking his head toward her as she walked with a determined stride toward the door. "Just like that?"

"Exactly like that, Agent Rossi," she said coldly, never turning around as she walked out of the room.

As silenced reigned in the wake of her departure, Dave dropped to the edge of the couch. Well, hell. He'd stepped in it this time, hadn't he?


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note**: We're excited to announce our Round 3 of our Fanfic Challenge on Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. The __**Dealer's Choice August Challenge**__ is a great way to stretch your writing muscles! Please see the forum for further details. We'd love to have you! And please visit the forum to read our latest interview with the simply amazing **Mingsmommy and cmfanbex**__! And, please remember our fellow author,__** Angel N Darkness**__, who was in a serious car accident on Sunday. Visit the discussion thread to leave your best wishes. Updates on her condition will be posted there as we receive them. We've also added four new discussion threads, __**"Let's Play, "Name**__**Your Beta""**__ for those of you that want to publicly recognize and recommend your beta and __**"Chit Chat with the Authors"**__ for those that have questions related to writing and Criminal Minds fanfiction, **"The Art of the Well Written Sex Scene"** for those of us that struggle with those intimate moments in our stories and **"Let's Take a Good Thing and Make it Better"** to gather suggestions on how to make this forum even bigger and brighter. Please drop by and check it out._

**Time Marches On**

**Chapter Two**

One very long hour later, Dave sighed deeply as he glanced toward the shattered glass littering the polished planks of the den's floor. He couldn't put off the inevitable much longer, he thought, letting his eyes trail toward the stairs that his lover had ascended sixty short minutes ago.

For every second he waited, he knew that Emily's seething anger was festering, roiling into a blast of rage that she'd make sure would knock him on his ass. One thing about Emily was that she didn't need those combat boots she wore to deliver a blow to his solar plexus.

Nope, not his girl. She was action personified when the cause was worthy.

She'd done that today with one well placed kick to an unsub's door. How could something so simple as an attempted apprehension of an unsub shift his world beneath his feet?

None of this was her fault. She certainly hadn't done anything wrong. As always, she'd been doing her job like the professional she was. No, the problem was his and his alone.

Normally, it wouldn't have bothered him to see her in action, kicking butts and taking names. Hell, if it had been Morgan or Hotch, he and his knees would have offered a silent thank you to the heavens above. He was well aware that he was growing too old for the physical demands that their job sometimes entailed. But today, his lover had illustrated in Technicolor just how far the mighty had fallen.

And she didn't even realize that very fact or the cause for his anger.

Groaning heavily as he dropped his head tiredly against the sofa, he scrubbed his eyes once again, attempting to force some sense into his head. She deserved an explanation for his behavior. Damn, if he knew Emily Prentiss at all, she'd demand one before she allowed him anywhere near their comfortable bed. It had been made crystal clear since the inception of their relationship that he'd be checking his ego by the door every day if he expected to have a mutual satisfying experience in said bed. And when dealing with a woman that could fluently curse him in nine different languages and wither his manhood with a well delivered glare, he'd become proficient at learning how to control his mouth.

Right up until tonight. Tonight, he'd screwed up. Royally.

Hoisting himself to his feet, he straightened his spine. Never one to shy away from a problem or confrontation, he accepted the fact that his reckoning was waiting upstairs. And trudging up the staircase with heavy footsteps that he knew her eagle ears would hear, he mentally prepared himself for what he hoped could be a grown up conversation between two people that loved each other.

Hopefully.

Slipping into the bedroom, the soft glow from the lamp on Emily's side of the bed illuminating the room, Dave watched as her dark eyes slowly lifted from the paperback she held in her hands.

"Hey," he grunted, dropping his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he leaned oh-so-casually against the doorframe. "Can we talk?" he asked warily.

"That depends on you," Emily shrugged, dropping the book to the covers beside her as she stared across the room into unreadable eyes, "and which of your personalities showed up here."

"Pardon me?" Dave replied, unease creeping up his spine as he watched her eyes rake him from head to toe, as if assessing his worthiness for her continued attentions.

"Am I talking to SSA David Rossi, legendary profiler for the BAU with ago the size of Texas? Or Dave Rossi, best-selling world renowned author with his legions of fans? Or is this just Dave, the guy that professes to be in love with me? Cause I've got to say, if it's anything other than the latter, I'm really not interested in talking," she warned, scooting up the bed to prop against the headboard as she eyed him cautiously.

Blowing out a long breath through his nose as he quickly deliberated his response, he pushed off the door frame as he finally said, "How about Dave, the guy that knows he's been acting like a jerk since the second he walked through the door and wanted you to know that he's sorry?"

"Is that an apology?" Emily sniffed, still tracking his movements with a practiced eye as he slowly removed his cufflinks and dropped them on the mahogany dresser. In spite of her well-deserved anger, she couldn't help but feel the physical attraction that had always been a vital part of their relationship. Mentally shaking her head, she forced herself to maintain control, to remain focused on the situation at hand, to remember her anger and employ it to its best use.

"Yeah," he said softly, staring at her reflection in the mirror, letting himself drink in the creamy pale skin, to memorize every inch of her perfect features. "It is," he said, meeting her eyes. "You gonna accept?"

"It's hard to see this as a genuine apology when I'm not even sure what the hell our problem was," Emily returned evenly in a deceptively serene tone, raising one dark brow in perfect questioning.

Full disclosure. It had been one of the basic tenets of their relationship. All those long months ago when this had began between them, they'd both agreed to it. A disagreement could never truly be resolved until both parties fully disclosed the origin of their anger. And, damn, he'd agreed to it, hadn't he?

"It wasn't the remote," he stated quietly, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, well aware of her scrutiny as she watched from the bed.

"No kidding," she commented flatly, rolling her expressive eyes.

Slipping his shirt off and folding it methodically before dropping it on the armchair in the corner, Dave knew that he was biding his time. But every extra second allowed him to search for the best way to explain to this extraordinary woman that he shared a bed with just exactly how he felt. And allowed him to do so in a way that wouldn't be so utterly humiliating.

"You're stalling," Emily said evenly from the bed, her eagle eyes watching as the man she loved fiddled with the bottles of cologne and perfume interspersed on the dresser, lining them up perfectly. On any other day, the need for order and neatness would not have been an immediate priority.

"I'm thinking," he corrected absently, fingering the heavy glass bottle of Chanel No. 5 he'd given her last month for her birthday. Now, that had been a good night, he thought with satisfaction, remembering how easily he'd taken her down on the staircase on the way to the bedroom. He'd been the one kicking in doors that night.

"Multi-task," Emily ordered, her voice brooking no argument as she stuffed another pillow behind her back, preparing to settle in for whatever time frame he demanded.

Turning to watch the flush creeping over her alabaster skin, Dave sighed as the words blurted from his lips, "You kicked in the damn door."

"What?" Emily asked blankly, cocking her head slightly as her mouth frowned slightly. "What are you talking about, Dave?"

"Don't make me say it again, Emily," Dave muttered, turning and facing her, propping his hands against his still jean clad hips.

"Then say something that makes more sense," Emily retorted, shaking her head at him. "Because right now, Dave, I'm completely lost."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note**: We're excited to announce our Round 3 of our Fanfic Challenge on Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. The __**Dealer's Choice August Challenge**__ is a great way to stretch your writing muscles! Please see the forum for further details. We'd love to have you! And please visit the forum to read our latest interview with the simply amazing **Mingsmommy and cmfanbex**__! And, please remember our fellow author,__** Angel N Darkness**__, who was in a serious car accident on Sunday. Visit the discussion thread to leave your best wishes. Updates on her condition will be posted there as we receive them. We've also added four new discussion threads, **"Let's Talk about Chapter Length"** where author's discuss how long the ideal chapter should be,__**"Chit Chat with the Authors"**__ for those that have questions related to writing and Criminal Minds fanfiction, **"The Art of the Well Written Sex Scene"** for those of us that struggle with those intimate moments in our stories and **"Let's Take a Good Thing and Make it Better"** to gather suggestions on how to make this forum even bigger and brighter. Please drop by and check it out._

**Time Marches On**

**Chapter Three**

She was telling him the truth. The woman he loved was genuinely at a loss. He could see it in that little crinkle that always appeared in her forehead when she was trying to flesh something out in her mind. It was in the tilt of her face as her eyes narrowed…not in anger this time, but in honest confusion.

"It isn't rocket science, babe," Dave said tiredly, walking toward the bed, following the path he had often taken in the past. Pointing toward the empty expanse of mattress beside her, he pointed at it. "May I?" he asked hopefully, well aware that his next moves would be at her mercy and direction.

Glancing at the space beside her, she paused for a second before finally releasing another sigh. "You may," she nodded once, her eyes narrowing as she added, "IF it means that I'll get some answers." Turning to reach for her glass of wine on the nightstand, she smiled into her glass as she took a slow sip, the aged delicious brew slipping against her tongue.

"Is that our bottle of..."

Dropping the stemmed glass back to the table just as she heard the shocked tone filter into his words, Emily shook her head. "I really don't think you want to focus on the wine right now, do you, Dave?" Emily asked with a raised eyebrow as she looked at him again, well aware that the flashes in his eyes were signaling another possible eruption. But even she could see the change begin to come over his features as his better half began to overcome once again.

"The Brunello," he muttered with a release of breath. "You knew I was saving that. You really are pissed at me."

"Glad to know you noticed. And quit trying to dodge the subject," she said calmly. "We were talking about kicking in doors and what that has to do with being an asshole," she reminded him pertly.

"I know what the hell I was talking about," he grumbled, dropping on the bed huffily as he glared at the wine bottle on the nightstand once again, reminding himself that he was well out of his league when it came to staying one step ahead of the woman he loved.

"Then I'd suggest clarifying it with me," Emily returned coolly. "Unless, of course, you'd like to try out one of our very nice guest bedrooms," she added, her words dropping like chips of ice in a glass.

Shit, his mind moaned as that frigid tone picked through his soul. She was in her hardcore interrogation mode and wasn't backing away. He recognized that hard cold resonance in her cultured voice, having been on the receiving end many times before. "You kicked in the door today," he murmured slwoly, his eyes fixating on the reproduction of Monet' "Water Lilies" across the room. Consciously attempting to allow the soft colors and flowing lines to soothe him, he continued, his tongue loosening with each word, "You kicked in the door to the unsub's apartment and I realized just exactly how old I'm getting, Emily." Turning his head toward her, he added, eyebrows pinched together, "Then, you lost my remote and drank my favorite wine without me."

Quickly controlling her twitching lips and quashing her urge to giggle hysterically at her lover's almost child-like delivery of her list of sins, Emily cleared her throat carefully. "Okay, let's take this in order of importance, Rossi," she said sternly, nailing him with a hard stare from her chocolate eyes. "First, I didn't lose the remote. YOU did. And I found it exactly where YOU left it. You're welcome," she declared icily before he could open his mouth and object. "Second, I didn't drink YOUR wine. I drank OUR wine. Your half is still in the bottle," she relayed with a regal nod toward the dark bottle on the nightstand. Leaning a scant inch in his direction, she added, her tone brooking no argument, "And third, and most importantly, YOU are NOT old."

"And YOU are full of shit, Em," Dave replied stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest as his shoulders straightened. "Some of that political training is showing right now, Cara."

"Think what you want, but we both know that I rarely say things I don't mean. And I never lie to you," Emily returned calmly, turning on her side to face him completely.

Watching as her dark eyes suddenly flashed at those last words, Dave felt his chest tighten as he mumbled, guiltily, "You're right. That was a low blow and I'm sorry." Pausing, he drew in a deep breath as he admitted, haltingly, "I just...today threw me. It wasn't very long ago that I would have been the one busting down the door and leading the pack into the fray. Seeing you do it today was...disconcerting."

"I was just doing my job, Dave," Emily reminded him softly, her tone even but concerned. "If I hadn't have done it, you would have."

"Yeah. And the difference would have been that I would have ached for days and cursed oak doors everywhere for weeks," Dave grumbled, his fingers playing with the edge of the comforter, the bedside lamp casting shadows over the king-sized bed.

"So what? Doesn't change the fact that you would have gotten the job done," Emily replied easily, her hand creeping out to rest on the warm wall of his chest, her fingers threading through the hair that resided there. "And I don't think the recognition that you shouldn't do something you'll pay for later is an indication of getting old. It's a mark of a seasoned agent."

"And they call me a silver tongued devil," Dave smiled faintly, grunting as her fingers found a flat brown nipple and twisted sharply in warning.

"What was that?" Emily asked primly, a smile playing at the corner of her lips as she felt him twitch beneath her touch.

Covering her hand quickly, Dave laughed, relief starting to flood his thoughts and words, "Nothing, tesoro."

"So are we done with the infantile arguments for the evening?" Emily asked, tilting her head to gaze up at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Because I can think of much more productive things to do here, Dave," she said suggestively, wriggling closer to his well toned body and drifting her hand down his still rippled belly to his abdomen.

Catching his breath as her talented fingers stroked sensitive skin, Dave grinned as he relaxed completely against the pillows. "Did you have something in mind?"

Quickly rising and straddling his hips, her hair falling around them in a silken veil, shutting out the rest of the world, Emily smiled saucily. "Yes, as I matter of fact, I do. And it involves showing you exactly how young at heart you really are," she said, bending down to whisper against his ear. "Starting now."

With Emily's capable hands escorting him to heaven, Dave idly acknowledged the fact that while he might not be as good as he once was. But that fact no longer mattered since he also realized that he was now as good as he'd ever be. And no matter what happened from this point forward, he was sharing his life with this amazing woman, and that simple fact outweighed all others.

Maybe getting old had its perks, after all.

_**Finis**_


End file.
